Matters shaped otherwise, however, for it was still pitch-dark on an autumn morning when he heard the sound of a door opening and a heavy tread upon the court-yard stones. The man’s voice called to the dog, and by the rattle of a chain John Gore guessed that the beast was being fastened. The footsteps crossed the court and paused outside the barn, with the glow from a lantern sending fingers of light through the chinks in the door.
“Halloo, gentlemen—halloo there!”
He hammered at the door, the sound making such a thunder in the barn that Mr. Pepys woke up with a gurgle, as though he were being throttled, and sat up, striking out with his fists into the dark.
“Soul of me, what is it? John! Where are you?”
“Here, watching over you like a father.”
“And I have been asleep! My conscience! Call me a fat fool, John, out loud!”
“Time to start, gentlemen.”
“Start!” said Mr. Pepys, rubbing his eyes, “why, it can’t be much after midnight!”
“Five of the clock it is, sirs.”
“Call us again at seven, Solomon; the hay is sweeter than I thought.”